Morgan Goode
by sweetlylethal
Summary: - Six Shot - When he was little, Morgan Goode was blonde. He had a small frame and weak lungs. And, he was the exact opposite of his father in every way possible.
1. Chapter 1

**Good News!**  
I am alive and breathing.  
Writing, though, is a different story.

Summer's here. And, I thought I'd finally finish this up.  
if you remember the first chapter from when I posted it earlier in the year,  
**GREAT!** Read it again.

If not, start from the beginning.  
And, enjoy a piece I have beaten myself over for at least a year.  
I've given this story a whole lot of attention, and detail. (so. much. detail.)  
So, here's **_Morgan Goode_**.

Read up, and tell me what you think!

**- Sweetly**

_P.S._  
_There are a whole bunch of references to the books in here, big and small._  
_See if you can catch them all!_

* * *

When he was little,  
Morgan Goode was blonde.  
He had a small frame and weak lungs.

And, he was the exact opposite of his father  
in every way possible.

_Zach_ Goode had _dark _hair – easily mistaken for black.  
He had broad shoulders and a full build.  
Muscle tone was not and never would be an issue.

Morgan had yet to show any development of the muscle variety,  
no matter how hard he flexed in his bathroom mirror.

Either way, Morgan didn't care.  
He wanted nothing else but to be exactly like his dad.

But, this was easier desired than accomplished.  
For starters, Zach was, of course, strong - to say the least,  
in every sense of the word.

Morgan couldn't go to recess without his inhaler,  
and three rounds of allergy medication.  
A fourth in his pocket – just in case.

Zach was over six foot.  
He was the only one in the house  
who could any of the light bulbs with particular ease.

While, Morgan wouldn't ever come close to the ceilings  
even if he stood on two chairs and a precariously perched step stool.

Zach's eyes were a definite deep, dark color.  
Morgan's had yet to decide whether they wanted to be blue or green.

Zach was bold, unafraid – his son always thought – like a super hero.  
Morgan was nothing but a scared-y cat.

Or, well. That's what Marcus Sanchez had called him every time  
he refused to jump off the swing set on the school playground.

But, never was there a difference between Zach Goode and his son  
greater than the whole name thing.

"What are you talking about?"  
Zach would scoff every time the subject came up,  
which was usually every morning.

"Morgan is a very manly name."

"_Really_?" Zach's son would ask in disbelief.  
"Swear."

But, Morgan wasn't ever convinced.

_ Zachary_ was a name, indubitably, meant for a man.  
A strong man. A man who could do a great many things.

But, there were three 'Morgan's in his first grade classroom,  
and the other two weren't strong,  
nor were they particularly manly.

In fact, they carried small purses.  
With butterflies on them.

So, you could imagine why the small blonde boy  
had developed a concern.

"Well, Morgan Rose doesn't think so."  
Zach would shrug, "Morgan Rose is probably jealous."

"Why would she be jealous?" Morgan didn't see the point.

After all, _her_ name was gender appropriate.  
_Her_ name wasn't the stopping her from being like Zachary Goode.

So, Morgan's eye brows would crinkle in confusion – just like his mother's.  
Zach would read his son's mind like a map – just like he would his wife's,  
stick a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and smirk.

"Because you're a _Goode_."  
"So?"

"So," Zach would smile mischievously, more than aware of Cammie standing behind him,  
"That cancels out the whole Morgan thing."

And, that would always earn him a swift punch in the arm.  
Then Zach would rise to his feet, grab his irritated wife by the shoulders and kiss her.

Morgan would cringe.  
One more thing he and his dad _didn't_ have in common.

In Mo's mind, girls still had cooties.

So, he would just turn away – like always – shake his head, terribly unsatisfied,  
and revisit his list of sources.

If there was one thing Morgan had that Zach didn't,  
it was a long list of allies.

And, despite the fact that Morgan only had one grandparent out of the regular four,  
the number of people genuinely trusted with his well being when his parents were gone  
was far greater than Zach could have ever hoped for when he was a kid.

Sure, Morgan Goode lacked muscle.  
He lacked height.  
He lacked his father's dark hair, and a suitable name.

But, the one thing Morgan didn't lack  
was people who loved him.

There was Grandma Morgan  
who never let him get away with anything.  
_Especially_ sweets before dinner.

There was Aunt Abby, Grandma Morgan's sister,  
who threatened that if she ever heard you add the appropriate 'great'  
onto her 'aunt' title, she'd show you how painfully 'great' she really was.

There was Joe,  
a man who was very much like his father.

Aunt Macey and Aunt Liz always brought presents,  
mostly clothes from the former, text-books from the later.

And, then there was Aunty Bex.  
Aunty Bex was the one with the funny accent.

But, more importantly,  
Aunty Bex was the one who spilled the secret.

"Morgan used to be your mum's last name." Bex tried to explain  
to the tiny boy seated at her kitchen table.

"Why did she change her last name?"  
"She married your dad."

"Why?"  
"God knows." Bex snickered.

But, Morgan didn't get it. So, he pressed on.

"Why can't I have a normal name?" Morgan's voice was small, and quiet.  
Not anywhere near the depth of his father's.

The higher-than-expected pitch in tandem with its natural shake  
had a knack for evoking sympathy – whether it was asked for or not.

And, maybe it was said evoked sympathy that made Aunty Bex forget the'classified' part of her and Morgan's parents' world – even for just a second – and start talking that night.

That night when Cammie was in "Boston"  
and Zach was in "Chicago"  
both on the occasional, yet frequent, "business trip".

Or, at least, that was as far as Morgan knew.

"Do you know who your mom is, love?"  
Morgan's eyebrows crinkled, "Cameron Goode?"

Bex laughed and gave a nod, "What I mean is: your mom is a legacy."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that your family is made up of a lot of people who are very good at what they do."  
"So?"

"So," Bex got up to scoop out the soup,  
"Morgan is probably the best name you can have in this business…"

"What business?"

But, Bex didn't hear him.

Whether she was simply too focused on getting the partially-if-not-completely burnt dinner into a Morgan-Goode-sized bowl, or she was just far too concerned with trying to make the tiny asthmatic boy feel better about his family tree.

Either way, Bex kept going.

"In fact, your mum and dad were the first called to go to Hong Kong because—"  
"Hong Kong?"

That's when Aunty Bex froze.  
And, Morgan – being much smarter than most kids his age – knew something wasn't right.

"Did I say Hong Kong?" Bex tried, "I meant Boston."  
"And Chicago?"

Aunty Bex whispered something sharp under her breath  
then turned to Morgan.

"Isn't it your bed time?"  
"It's 5:30"  
"Right."


	2. Chapter 2

**Good News!**  
I am alive and breathing.  
Writing, though, is a different story.

Summer's here. And, I thought I'd finally finish this up.  
if you remember the first chapter from when I posted it earlier in the year,  
**GREAT!** Read it again.

If not, start from the beginning.  
And, enjoy a piece I have beaten myself over for at least a year.  
I've given this story a whole lot of attention, and detail. (so. much. detail.)  
So, here's **_Morgan Goode_**.

Read up, and tell me what you think!

**- Sweetly**

_P.S._  
_There are a whole bunch of references to the books in here, big and small._  
_See if you can catch them all!_

_P.S.S.  
Italics in the story - if not used for emphasis - usually indicate something in the past.  
that should be something handy to know while reading. _  


* * *

First graders with asthma don't normally turn  
up as threats on the CIA's radar.

But, if any suspicion need be lowered,  
it turns out that Morgan Goode was a pretty darn good secret-keeper.

If he was told anything out of confidence,  
no way Mo would tell a soul.

Of course, this could be because he really didn't have very  
many _dangerous_ people to share secrets with.

He wasn't in cahoots with anyone on Langley's enemy list.  
If there was any sort of list.

To be honest, Morgan was rather ignorant of any sort of evil in the world  
until the night Aunty Bex spilled the beans - very important beans at that.

Very important beans, indeed, considering on his parents' return  
the spilling of said important beans  
prompted an impromptu closed-door meeting  
he evidently was invited to.

But, all the same, Morgan only ever spoke when necessary,  
only ever asked questions when something was _really_ important to him.

And, only ever shared news with his most trusted of allies —  
which may or may not include the majority of his stuffed animals.

Point is. So far, Morgan could handle keeping quite when asked.  
After all, this wasn't the first time Morgan ended up knowing more than he should.

Christmas presents, surprise birthday parties, you name it.  
Morgan did usually find out.  
Whether it be because of his brighter-than-average mind, or the fact that  
Aunt Liz was notorious for the letting loose of slightly confidential information.

Cause, let's face it. "Oopsy Daisy" doesn't fix anything.

Therefore, this wasn't the _first_ secret to accidentally slip.  
It was just the most important one.

"Bex. What did you _do_?"

Morgan pressed his ear against the door to the master bedroom.  
His mother's voice was sharp.

"In my defense, I thought you would have already told him by now."  
"We were kind of waiting." His father's level voice chimed.

"Why? Is this where the legacy ends?"  
"Where is going to study, Bex?" Cammie snapped, "Blackthorne?"

There was a beat.

"I'm sorry. It just…" Aunty Bex sounded more ashamed than Morgan  
thought a person with such confidence ever could, "It just slipped."

Another beat of silence.

"It was sloppy." Bex admitted, then he could hear her smile, "On the bright side, the kid is smart."

"The kid asks too many questions," Zach countered.  
"There's no way he's going to settle for anything but the truth," Cammie muttered  
to her husband's amusement, "And, he won't stop asking till he gets it."

"Well, that sure sounds familiar."

* * *

Believe it or not, it wasn't any real surprise to Morgan  
that his parents were the best of the CIA.

They sort of fit the part.  
They were both smart, clever.  
They had always seemed more physically prepared than the other  
moms and dads at the annual neighborhood family field day.

It wasn't a hard concept for Morgan to grasp.  
They were spies. Like in the moves.

"No, bud," Zach shook his head solemnly, "Not like the movies."

"Things are much darker in real life, kiddo," his mom added remorsefully, sweeping his blonde locks across back from his face and placing a sad kiss on his forehead almost regretting bringing such an innocent soul into a world that was so…

un-innocent-friendly.

But, now that he knew about their world,  
he had to know the shadows and horror that came with it.

It wasn't something you could just pretend and make disappear.

And, though this may have seemed like a heavy lesson for a six year old.  
it never really sunk into Morgan's head until  
Aunty Bex went missing.


	3. Chapter 3

Before the phone call,  
Morgan had always known his dad was intelligent.  
He had always known his dad was brave.

The whole spy thing was just a validation of that fact.

But, the first week of third grade,  
Morgan came to realize that he may never be as intelligent  
or anywhere near as courageous as his father.

No matter how many math tests Morgan aced or spelling bees he won.  
No matter how many swing-set's he'd gotten the guts enough to jump off of in the past two years.

No matter how hard he tried.

Because, with nothing but a ring on a Sunday afternoon.  
Morgan watched his mother – the strongest woman he'd ever known – crumble to pieces,  
and _hide_ from the world, from the ones who loved her.

She took off work.  
She stopped taking missions.  
She stayed home.  
She made calls and did research,  
desperate to find her best friend.  
And, though the Goodes didn't own an especially large house,

Morgan's mother was nowhere to be found, nowhere to be seen.  
And, while _Morgan _Goode wanted to cry  
and scream  
and hide with his mother,

_Zach_ Goode simply took over the duty of picking Morgan up from school,  
turned to him in the backseat, gave his signature grin, and said

"Let's go find mom."

* * *

Despite the blood relation,  
and the ump-teen times he had read the first three editions  
of _The Fundamental Elements of Covert Operations_ under his covers at night

Still, every afternoon when his father opened the front door  
Morgan didn't even know how to start _guessing_  
where his mom had disappeared to.

Morgan would check the closets.  
Under the bed.  
In the garage.

All of the hiding places he could think of.  
All the places she wasn't the day before.

Morgan's mom was good.  
Morgan's mom was _The_ _Chameleon_.

But, Zach would only have to check once.

Once Morgan was stumped,  
Zach would simply give it a moment of thought,  
turn on his feet, then head off in some new direction, and lead the two of them to Cammie.

Zach always knew.  
And, Zach was always and only ever _brave_.

This Morgan knew for sure.

Because, each day, once they had finally found Morgan's mom  
crumpled in some new corner, she was covered in  
sometimes cobwebs,  
sometimes dirt,  
sometimes dust,  
but always tears

She would sit there and tremble, seeming so fragile that  
Morgan would be afraid even to breathe,  
terrified that she might shatter if he dared to exhale.

But, Zach, bravery and all,  
would never hesitate.

He wouldn't cower in the doorway, like Morgan, afraid of  
accidentally breaking her already far-too-broken pieces.

Zach would start right toward Cam,  
He would pick her up then place her forehead against his.

He wouldn't be afraid to hold her.  
He wouldn't be afraid to let her cry, see her in pain.

He would only whisper, "It's okay, Gallagher Girl,"  
and wait.

As if somehow he just knew,  
Aunty Bex would be home a month later.

As if he was in on some sort of secret,  
a secret that Morgan could never know.

Never understand.

And, it was then, Morgan noticed,  
that he began to _not _understand a lot of things.

How could someone, anyone, just disappear?  
And how could even the greatest spies in the world be completely in the dark?

What, if anything, had the power to make _Rebecca Baxter_ vanish,  
and _Cammie Morgan_ _Goode _simply shatter like never before?

Morgan couldn't even begin to answer his questions by himself.  
nor could he answer them all at once.  
So, he supposed, that's why he picked the most important one,  
and asked.

"How long is Mom going to hide?"

His small voice filled the void as the house silenced and another  
day fell asleep to the hushed sound of sobbing.

It was awhile until Morgan's father spoke.  
But, when he did, his face was one of stone – a sad sort of stone.

"Your mom has never been and never will be weak,"_  
_  
Morgan would match Zach's heavy expression and nod as if he understood  
as if he knew exactly what he was talking about,  
where he was coming from.

But, he didn't.

Because, Morgan was not his father.  
And, the two would always be hopelessly different.

"But, there's no stopping her," Zach would say,  
"When her mind is made up. You have no chance."

"So, does that mean she's going to hide forever?" He asked,

If Cammie had made up her mind to cry, to hide,  
to make the pain disappear as easily as she did herself  
there was no way anyone could make her do differently.

But, still. Zach said, "No, not forever."

Then he smirked softly," Not if you know the exception."  
Morgan's eyes grew wide  
as he whispered,

"What's the exception?"

Because, the exception  
was the key to bringing his mom out of hiding.

It was a secret that separated the son from the father.  
It was the mystery behind holding together a Gallagher Girl so effortlessly,  
while the cruelty of the world was taken out on its most  
undeserving of victims.

That was something Morgan knew that even if the mystery was solved,  
even with the secret revealed,  
he surely could never do.

And, he hoped he would never have to even try.

But, as Morgan grew up,  
he realized that hope was for children.

And, _trying _wasn't an option.  
Not anymore.

Because, by the time the phone rang again,  
on Morgan's twelfth birthday,

Morgan was still not as intelligent,  
still not as brave as his father.

And, Morgan still didn't understand.

But, after that phone call,  
Zachary Goode was officially missing-in-action.

And, _trying _wasn't an option for Morgan anymore.  
He _had_ to be Zach.

He had to.


	4. Chapter 4

Morgan had read an entire textbook on the theories of  
neurological science when he was in the fifth grade.

Not voluntarily, of course.

Aunt Liz was babysitting for a week and thought it useful  
to fill - or rather, _cram_ as much information into little Morgan's mind  
while she had the chance.

And, due to the fact that eight out of the twenty-six hundred-page chapters  
covered the subject of information recall,

Morgan knew very well, though not quite by choice,  
that _memory _is a delicate thing.

Memories can fade, disappear without a sound.  
Without warning.

And, information can be erased with a simple  
injection, a slight manipulation to the tiniest spot on the brain.

And, considering it was only three years ago since  
Aunty Bex went missing, and the world began to crumble,

Morgan knew he didn't just accidentally _forget_ what his father  
had said to him. He must have blocked it out, he thought.

To be honest, He didn't particularly remember much  
about that particular time of his life,

when the world was in shambles  
and Morgan began to fear his mom would disappear for good.

But, it just so happened that Morgan couldn't specifically recall  
the most specifically important moment  
of that specific time in his life.

Which happened to be particularly inconvenient.

Aunt Liz had covered the question of trauma-related memory loss  
with a full power-point presentation during Tuesday's lunch that same week  
she was in charge of small Morgan's well-being.

And Aunt Macy had always told the story of a particular Gallagher Girl  
every Halloween since Mo was six.

A Gallagher Girl who had been tortured by terrorists,  
then released to search desperately for the traces of her past  
robbed from her by both serum and scars.

_"Did she ever remember?"_

_"No, she never really remembered." Macy shook her head_  
_and adjusted the blanket across Mo's shoulders_

_as if protecting his from the autumn chill_  
_would make up for the world of tragedy he had so recently been introduced to._

_"Why not?"_

_"Sometimes, there are just some things you don't want to remember,"_  
_Aunt Macy's voice was soft as the fire place burned orange,_

_"Sometimes, there are just some things you don't want to know."_

But, Morgan couldn't _not _know.  
He couldn't _not _remember:

a stubborn trait his father claimed was fully inherited  
by the Morgan side of the family tree.

He _had_ to hold the world together.  
He_ had_ to be Zach.

He _had_ to find a way to fix things.  
He _had_ to know.

"What's the exception?" Morgan whispered,  
crunching his forehead, trying as hard as he could to concentrate.

But, it was no use.  
He didn't remember.

Zach would have remembered.

But, for whatever reason, Morgan couldn't.  
Morgan couldn't remember anything except the way his mom hid  
when Aunty Bex disappeared.  
The way Cammie sobbed and shook.

He could only remember how _that _phone call  
was so similar from _this _phone call.

Yet, this time around,  
Morgan's mother didn't react the way he thought she would.

She didn't hide.  
She didn't tremble or cry.

But, that's what scared Morgan most.

He figured she didn't hide because there wasn't anyone to find her.  
She didn't shake or sob because if she did, he figured she wouldn't stop.

Because, the only one who could make the tears subside,  
the trembles turn to stillness.

The _only one_ who knew the secret, the _exception_.  
He was gone now.

And, Morgan could not feel more helpless, more useless.  
He could not feel any less like his father.  
He supposed that's why _he_ did the hiding instead.

But, unfortunately, though Morgan was very good at disappearing – due to his lineage and all –  
hiding from _his mother_ was a totally different ball game.

Meaning, it was impossible.

"Hey, kiddo!"

Morgan had given a good amount of thought to his hiding place.  
He considered the convenience, the comfort value,  
the available escape routes.

Everything his little twelve-year-old-spy-in-training-to-be mind could possible think of.

And, still. Sure enough.  
In a matter of minutes, Cammie flipped up Morgan's bed skirt and grinned.

And, though any normal person would be fooled,  
Morgan knew every bit of his mother's smile was forced.  
Nor would she ever let it fall.

At least, not as long as he was around.

"_There's no stopping her."_

Morgan could almost hear his father's voice  
as his mother grabbed his feet and pulled him out from under his bed frame.

_"When her mind is made up, you have no chance." _

"You know," Cammie mused, peering over her son, "_hiding _is for amateurs."

He should have known that.  
When Cammie Goode hid she _blended_.  
amongst the boxes in the attic,  
the dust in the closet.

He should have known to blend, not hide.  
He should have known better than to choose the under-the-bed cliché.  
No matter it's easy access to comfy pillows.

Zach would have known better.  
Zach wouldn't have cared about the pillow access.

"But, you're not an easy little man to find. That's for sure."  
Cammie gave a laugh, and Morgan could instantly detect Aunt Abby in his mother's voice.

Aunt Abby was a woman of many walls.  
And, as Cammie brushed Morgan's darkening hair out of his eyes,  
Morgan wondered how much time and effort his mom had put into building similar walls.

Walls that would hold. Walls that she wouldn't dare let down.  
_  
"So, does that mean she's going to hide forever?"  
"No, not forever." Zach smirked._

_"Not if you know the exception."_

"What's the exception?"  
_  
_Morgan didn't think he had said anything out loud,  
until his mom's eyebrows wrinkled like his own always did  
and asked,

"What was that, Mo?"

But, Morgan wasn't sure why he had said anything.  
He guessed he just wanted his mom to cry for once, to be able to break.  
And, he wanted to be able to fix things.

He wanted to be able to hold together the world,  
when everything was falling apart.

He wanted to know the secret, the exception.  
He just wanted to be like his dad.

But, since that wasn't an option – no matter how hard he tried.  
Morgan just wanted his dad _back_.

So, he said so.

"Is he going to come home?"

Cam turned her small twelve year old to sit on her lap,  
swept his hair from his eyes, and took a deep breath.

Morgan could hear the tension behind that breath,  
the tears practically screaming to be set free.

She could have broken down. She _should _have broken down.

But, by the way she steadied her heartbeat,  
Morgan could tell his mom had decided against it.

"_When her mind is made up,  
you have no chance."_

"Of course," Cammie finally murmured against Morgan's head,  
"Of course he's coming home."

"How do you know?"

"Because," Morgan could finally hear traces of the tears, the grief  
when his mother said, "There's nothing that could ever keep him from you."


	5. Chapter 5

Cammie's father was rarely ever mentioned in the Goode household,  
especially around Morgan. His story was one that was rarely told, if at all.

Of course, growing up, Morgan found there was a lot  
about life that was classified.

But, also, there was a lot about life that just hurt.

And, if _his _dad was gone for good,  
Morgan wouldn't want to talk about it, or think about it.  
He wouldn't know how to deal with the pain.

If his dad was dead, Morgan wouldn't know what to do.

So, he never pushed his mom to tell him the details.  
And, he never asked.

Well, he never asked his _mother_.

_"It's a long story, Mo." Zach sighed, checking his tail_  
_assuring that Cammie was out of earshot._

_"But, what happened?"_  
_Zach looked down, "He didn't come home."_

_"Did he die?"_  
_"Yes, Morgan. He did."_  
_"But, how do you know?"_

_There was a pause there. A second of hesitation._  
_As if he wasn't sure either. As if there wasn't much Morgan's father had to share._

_Or, there wasn't much he was willing to share._  
_There was too much Morgan wouldn't understand._

_"Because," Zach finally said into Morgan's eyes,_  
_"Nothing but death could have kept him from your mom."_

_Zach took a deep breath, "Or from you."_

_"He didn't know me."_  
_Morgan's father shrugged as if it didn't matter._  
_The rule would have applied just the same._

_"What about you?" Morgan asked softly._

_"He didn't know me either." Zach said,_  
_then before Morgan could argue, he added solemnly,_

_"And, I'm sure he could've done without someone like me."_

* * *

When Morgan Goode was little,  
he had a simple mind and a pure heart.

Like most kids do so young.

He never really thought about evil  
much farther than the monsters under his bed,  
or the villains on his favorite cartoon.

And, if he did ever think about those,  
he figured that good would always win.

The nightlight always beat out the dark.  
The hero always beat out the bad guy.

When Morgan Good was little,  
he expected life to be no different.  
He was full of hope and innocence.

He was the exact opposite  
of his father in every way possible.

Zach Goode knew about evil.  
His mind was complex, his heart not always pure.

He knew villains weren't only characters on Saturday morning television.

He knew that good didn't always prevail.  
He knew that many times, evil won –

the nightlight suffocated to darkness,  
the bad guy destroyed the hero

Zach Goode knew evil.  
He'd lived it, experienced it.

And, while Morgan never really pondered  
about what his parents might have done,

what they might have seen,  
what their jobs entailed.

Zach couldn't ever stop thinking about it.

Thinking about all of the things  
Morgan would do everything to know.  
And, Zach would do anything to forget.

And, in the end,  
there were many differences between  
Morgan Goode and his father.

There was height ,  
though Morgan had grown taller.

and hair color,  
though Mo's blonde had gradually turned to brown.,

There was muscle mass,  
and the matter of their names.

But, the greatest difference between Zach and Morgan Goode  
wasn't any of that.

The greatest difference was that  
Zach understood things, knew things.

And, Morgan didn't.

He would know how to fix things,  
to move on, to make things better.

To stop Morgan's mom from crying herself to sleep,  
yet smile all through the day  
as if nothing was wrong.

To stop the silence, and the secrets,  
the disguises and the hurt.

To stop all the darkness.  
To change the burnt out light bulb.

Because, though Zach could be frightened by evil,  
scared by darkness – just like any other hero  
could have the tiniest drop of fear  
during the climax of battle,

Zach wasn't afraid to fight.  
He could fight.  
He would fight.

Zach knew the exception.

And, Zach was tall enough to reach the bulb,  
replace it, and let the light finally come through.

But, Morgan couldn't do any of those things.

So, he supposed that's why he looked up,  
studied the ceiling of the closet, and said so.

Despite the harsh, hushed bickering behind  
the doors of his parents' closet,

Morgan said so.

"The light bulb is out."

And, that's when it stopped.

The bickering  
which had turned to yelling  
which had morphed into a lethal silence

which all started when Morgan's mother  
took a hard look at Aunt Liz and said:

"What do you mean there's a tip?"

There was a pause, and as Morgan pressed his ear against the closet door  
he heard his mother, grandmother  
and all three of his unrelated aunts crowd into the master bedroom

He heard Aunty Liz stuttering,  
struggling to answer.

"I mean-" Liz took a breath,  
as if the burden was too heavy  
the possibility too great.

"There's a tip. About where he might be."

Morgan moved to the middle of the double doors of his parents' closet,  
peaking through the crack  
just in time to see the strain  
and the panic  
and the relief  
and the grief on his mother's face.

"How do you know this?" Aunty Bex shot out,  
lowering her voice as if to make sure  
the twelve year old in the house wouldn't hear.  
wouldn't hope.

But, it was too late.

Morgan was no more than five feet from Bex as  
she sat on the bed  
and stared at Liz  
who was currently on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Well, I received and encoded file on my personal computer."  
"What does that mean?" Cammie urged.  
"It just popped up?" Bex inquired.

"Well, it's _unusual_ because, well, the servers at Langley are _very _secure.  
I know because I'm the one who created the latest virtual structure.  
So, I didn't know how a lone file blew through all of the walls,  
and without setting off any alarms, or trigger any signals,  
and to arrive solely on my computer,  
in a personal folder  
which is locked under-"

"Abridged version, Liz," Macey encouraged forcefully.

"Right." Liz took a breath,

Bex crossed her arms,  
Macey tapped her fingers.

But, the two Morgan women in the room  
grew stiff as boards.

Too long had they been alone.  
Too often had they clung on to false hope.

Too often did they search without success.  
Too quickly they burnt out,  
the loneliness wearing them thin.

Cammie Morgan Goode had been in and out of the  
country for the first four months of her husband's disappearance.

He just stopped checking in.  
He just stopped.

He was just  
gone.

Just like her father.

And, so she stopped.

After ceaseless disappointment,  
reoccurring dead-ends,  
she returned home.

trying her best not to hope:  
a record streak that reigned strong,  
until now.

"I thought it would take hours to decode it,  
but it was more like a language."

The room became far too still  
as if the group seemed to remember something,  
a terrible something.

"And, that's when I thought of your dad's journal, Cam."

"That doesn't make any bloody sense,"  
Bex's voice was lost some of  
its previously hushed-quality.

"Who would even know that language except us?"

Liz shook her head, stumped – which was saying something.  
"Did you ever show the journal to Zach, Cam?"

Morgan saw his mother flinch at the sound of his father's name.  
But, he couldn't blame her.

He didn't know exactly when the tears started,  
but they were there, staining his cheeks.

"No," Morgan's mother said,  
"It's Joe."

"Mr. Solomon?"

Bex said the name of the man Morgan that had  
practically vanished along with his father half a year ago.

"He's been looking for him." Cammie said,  
revealing the only reason she was even the  
slightest bit comfortable coming home,  
giving up.

"But, he's not part of the CIA search team."

"He's not part of the CIA," Rachel Morgan finally spoke,  
"According to their records, he's still not even alive."

"So, he must have hacked into my computer before he left,"  
Liz was stunned, "And found somewhere,  
some way to send that file under heavy duty security."

"Mr. Solomon is awesome."Bex grinned.  
"Seconded." Macey agreed.

But, almost instantly,  
that small moment of bliss vanished.

"What did it say?" Cammie swallowed,  
and when no one dared to answer,

Morgan finally heard his mother fall apart.

"Where is Zach?"

And, that's about when the civil conversation  
morphed into more of an argument.

A loud argument, at that.

"You _have_ to leave, Cammie.  
You _have_ to follow that tip."

Macey wasn't one who heard the word "no" very often."

"Not a chance. She has to stay here." Bex countered.

"I'm not leaving Morgan."

"But, Cammie-" Liz cried.

"No."

"It's off record. It's unofficial. She won't have sufficient backup-"

"Seems like a small price to pay to get your husband back." Macey said blandly.

"And, have Morgan be a bloody orphan?"

"Zach was practically an orphan. And, he turned out okay."  
Liz argued quietly knowing in her heart that wasn't the point,  
but too desperate to get her best friend back.

The real Cammie left with that phone call six months ago,  
or at least what remained of her after Bex had disappeared.

Liz had watched her friend lose  
and lose  
and lose.

Something had to give, to gain.  
And, Liz would do anything for Cammie to have that gain.

"He's not _like_ his father." Bex snapped.

"Yes he is."

Cammie wasn't sure where it came from.  
But, she felt that fact was something she should fight for,  
the piece of her husband that remained.

"Sure, Cam." Bex spat out, furious now,  
"But, he doesn't have to become a bloody orphan to prove it."

"You're the only one who can find him, Cam. You know Austria.  
You know those mountains.  
You know that place."

Macey fought, but it was all for naught when Cammie said.  
"I don't remember that place."

Morgan watched a darkness like he'd never known  
flood his mother's face. And, suddenly he was craving for light.

So, Morgan Goode looked up.

"We don't know what he's caught up in.  
This could be the Circle resurfacing, and you could be walking into—"

"The Circle was wiped out, Bex."

"Zach's still around, isn't he?"

"Yes, but-"  
Morgan could tell by his mother's tone  
that she was too weak to argue anymore.  
Her voice gave out as she pleaded,  
"Zach's not part of the Circle."

"Do you know that for certain, Cam?"

Bex seemed so much sorrier to say such a thing  
than she had for spilling the secret  
of the spies  
and the lies  
and the darkness  
destroying Morgan Goode's innocent soul.

"_I'm sure he could've done without someone like me"  
_

But, Morgan Goode couldn't take it anymore.h  
He couldn't take the questions.  
And, the secrets.

"_I'm sure he could've done without someone like me"_

What Zach meant by that little Morgan didn't know.

He needed answers.  
He wanted answers.  
He wanted to fix it.  
He wanted to be Zach.

He wanted to shut his eyes, plug his ears,  
and disappear forever.

But, all he found he could do in that moment  
was stare at the light in the closet.

As Bex patched up the open wound of silence  
filling the room, burning Morgan's ears like nothing else.

"Look, I trust Zach," Bex stated sincerely, honestly "You know that."

"But, even if he's not with the bloody shambles of them,  
if he's still around, there could be others.  
And, this could be it."

"And, they might be angry." Liz meekly reasoned,  
"And, things _didn't_ turn out so well when you went after the Circle the last time, Cam"

Morgan reached for the light switch,  
eager to escape the weight on his shoulders,  
the grief in the room.

"Yeah," Macey added, a new solemn something in her voice,  
"Maybe you shouldn't go."

"Mom," Cammie said,  
helpless, confused.

"If you had one chance to bring back  
the man you loved, would you take it?"

But, Rachel Morgan had little time to answer  
because the switch Morgan Goode had flipped  
made no change to the suffocating darkness.

And, Morgan, overwhelmed and desperate,  
couldn't help but say so.

"The light bulb is out."

And with that,  
the doors to Morgan's parent's closet swung open.

Air flooding into the stale space,  
making the old coats and the dresses rustle.

And, as Morgan looked up at his mother's face,  
he could tell she was panicking.

He was never supposed to see her like this,  
in agony.

He was supposed to believe that everything was going to be alright.  
He was supposed to have hope.

But, Morgan knew better.  
Morgan knew his mom was broken, shattered inside.

He needed to fix it.

But, Morgan couldn't do that.  
There was a lot he couldn't do.  
There was a lot he didn't know.

There was a lot of differences between Zach Goode  
and his son.

So much more he didn't know.  
So much more he didn't understand.

Zach would know.  
Zach would understand.  
Zach needed to be here.  
Zach needed to come home.

"Mo," Cammie swooped down to pick up her small son,  
placing him on his feet, "How long have you been there?"

But, Morgan didn't answer.  
He couldn't answer.

He just took a breath, pointed and said,  
"Someone needs to change to light bulb."

"Morgan," Cammie said soothingly, catching the tears on his cheeks,  
"Morgan, honey. It's okay. That doesn't matter, kiddo."

"I'm not tall enough." Morgan said simply, "Dad is tall enough."

"Mo- " Aunty Bex tried to interject, tried to comfort him,  
but Morgan's mind had been made up.

"Let's go find dad."


	6. Chapter 6

The next time Morgan saw his father,  
the walls were a sterile white.  
The furniture was all made out of shiny steel.

And, the hallway was cold  
in every aspect of the word.

Machines beeped softly,  
strangers shuffled in and out of the rooms,  
checking clip boards, taking notes

while Morgan sat by his mother  
in the hallway of the Langley infirmary,  
restless.

And, they waited.

They waited for what seemed like forever  
until a bed was rolled through the double doors  
at the far end of the corridor.

With the entrance, Cammie rose,  
fully composed until the bed stopped in front of her,  
and she placed her hands on the face of Zachary Goode.

And, finally,  
Cammie cried as Morgan watched his father smile weakly,  
his eyes barely open, and say.  
"What took you so long?"

"You're not an easy man to find."

"Ha," the laugh made his cringe, but he pushed through to say:

"Spy. Remember?"

No one said much after that.

Not until Morgan's father was set up in a room  
for overnight observation for what he described as  
"just a scratch."

But, as far as Morgan could see it was  
a severe concussion,  
a broken arm,  
extreme exhaustion,  
malnutrition,  
and too many lesions, scrapes, and bruises to count.

It's wasn't just a scratch.  
But, the smug smile on Morgan's father's face told otherwise.

And, it just so happened that said smug-smile was the only smile  
that Morgan had seen since he'd been at Langley.

_"I'm sure he could've done without someone like me"_

It could have just been the meds.  
It probably was just the meds.

The meds were strong.

But, either way,  
when his mother was gone,  
dealing with briefings and technicalities,  
and the two were alone,  
for the first time in months,

Morgan said so.

"Dad?"  
His voice was sort of weary and weak.  
It had been awhile since he'd said that name.

"Mo." Zach replied.

"You work for the CIA, right?"

It was a very simple question.  
A very obvious one too.

And, because Morgan wasn't known for wasting  
his breath on very simple, very obvious questions,  
Zach's smug-smile began to fade.

"Yes, of course."  
"Then why do people look at you like you don't?"

Zach lifted his eyebrows at his son,  
then relaxed against his pillow, hands behind his head.

"_People _are probably jealous."

But, though Morgan's hair was darker,  
though he was taller, and stronger than he was in first grade,

His father's explanation still didn't suffice

"Aunty Bex didn't think we should look for you." Morgan didn't mean  
to choke on his words, but he did – and Zach didn't blame him.

For a twelve and a half year old, those were heavy words to carry.

"Aunty Bex is very smart," his father replied.

But, that wasn't the answer Morgan was looking for.  
Because, after all these years, Morgan still didn't understand.

_"I'm sure he could have done without someone like me." _

"She said you could be caught up in something."

"What, exactly?"

"The Circle?" Morgan tried, irritated with his uncertainty, "or something."

Morgan's father nodded in understanding,  
only making his son more eager for answers,

"Are you working for them?"  
"No," Zach responded calmly,  
without a beat,  
without a doubt.

Morgan didn't know why.  
But, he was relieved.

"Then what happened? Did _they_ do this?"

The room grew silent.  
Mo had grown to hate the silence,

"Why didn't you come home, Dad?"  
"I tried, Morgan. I tried so hard."  
"So, what happened?"

Zach let out a heavy sigh.

And, Morgan could almost feel him  
holding back everything he knew,  
everything he'd seen  
but he wouldn't dare let loose.

"Mo, there are just some things  
you don't want to know."

Zach suddenly seemed all the more exhausted,  
as if the mere thought reversed the pain medication,  
and amplified the initial sting.

"But, I want to know what _you_ know,"  
Morgan couldn't help but yell a little.

The small boy realized he never said it aloud.  
And, he could only hold so much.

He'd reached his limit,  
his threshold for gloom and doom,  
darkness and disappearances.

"How am I supposed to be as great as a spy  
as you someday if you don't tell me?"

Morgan wanted to stop there,  
but he simply couldn't.

"I want to know what you know.  
I want to know the exception."

"The exception?"

Once again, Morgan hadn't realized he said that aloud.  
But, there was no taking it back now.

"The exception." Morgan tried to explain,  
"from when Aunty Bex went missing and Mom started hiding and-"

"I remember."  
"Oh." Morgan said weekly,  
ashamed he ever believed his father would forget.

"But, you already know the exception, Morgan."

Mo moved closer to his father,  
desperate.

"I did. I did, but I forgot it, Dad."  
Morgan's frail voice faltered,  
"I'm so sorry I forgot it."

"Mo, listen." Zach stopped him, "You said that Aunty Bex did not  
think it was a good idea to follow the tip, to go after me."

Morgan nodded

"But, your mom followed the tip anyway."

"And, knowing your mom and Aunt Bex, even if they argued,  
they would have been in agreement at _some_ point, about something"

Zach found the words hard to swallow.  
"She didn't want to go, did she?"

Mo shook his head, slow and careful,  
"She said she needed to stay with me."

"She had a lot of reasons to stay.  
But, _you_ changed her mind."

"Sure. But-"

"I needed help. Her mind was made up.  
But, you changed it, Morgan."

Mo's eyes widened in wonder  
as if suddenly his father had  
finally let the secret loose  
changed the light bulb  
and flipped the switch.

"You fixed it, Morgan. _You _did it."

Zach smiled a little,  
a small ounce of pride shining through.

"And, it's because of the _same_ reason  
I won't tell you everything you want to know.  
You'll figure out the important stuff in time.  
You're a bright kid."

"Why is that?" Morgan pushed,  
his eyebrows crinkling in concentration – just like his mother's would.  
Zach read his thoughts like a map – just like he would his wife's

And, with a shrug and a small smirk, he said  
"You're a Goode."

That was it.  
That was the exception.

Mo had probably heard that excuse  
from his father a hundred times.

But this time,  
it was different.

Morgan was a Goode  
because he was Zachary Goode's son.

And though that may appear to be a very obvious fact,  
Morgan had never quite felt it was true  
until right then.

He was a Goode.  
The only thing in the world that could change his mother's mind,  
though as stubborn as it was.

He was a Goode. He was like Zach.

All along,  
he was like his father  
without knowing everything he knew,  
or understanding everything he'd seen.

Without even trying.

And, that was all that mattered  
to growing Morgan Goode,

until his father decided to comment.

"But, that's not why you'll be the best in the business one day."

"What?" Morgan was caught off guard,  
feeling as if he had gotten so close,  
only to again fall short.

Zachary Goode was the best agent of the era.  
He was strong.  
He was intelligent.  
He was brave - like a superhero.

What else could there possibly be?

Once more,  
despite his bright mind  
and his prime pedigree  
Morgan didn't understand.

So, he supposed that's why he asked.

"Why?" Mo shook his head sincerely,  
"Why will I be the best one day then?"

Zach smiled softly,  
a knowing smile.

And, it was a look Mo knew,  
a look that was heavy with experience,  
and knowledge.

Zach had seen things.  
He understood things.  
He knew things Morgan had yet to learn.

So, Morgan was certain his father  
was telling the absolute truth when  
he looked him in the eyes, and said.

"You're a Morgan."


	7. Annie Goode Chapter Preview

**hey there!**  
so i received some _ridiculously_ sweet reviews for this story.  
like you guys were really too nice.  
and, though i wasn't planning to write a sequel to_ Morgan Goode._  
like at all  
ever.

someone said something about  
writing for Morgan as a teenager.  
And, that appealed to me more than I thought it would.

**And, so_ Annie Goode_ became a thing.**  
And, now I'm writing the sister story (literally) to _Morgan Goode_,  
that is **most definitely a sequel** as it builds off this one

rather than being just another six shot  
about another kid.

Anyway,  
I wanted to say **thank you for being so sweet**  
with **a sample chapter form _Annie Goode_.**  
and, since this is going to be like the second to third chapter in,  
i know there are going to be some things you might not fully understand:

but that's why it's a sample!  
to getcha to come back and read the full story!

**so, keep an eye out for _Annie Goode_**,  
and **enjoy** this snippet (that's actually like twelve pages of quite a bit of Zammie)  
and **tell me what you think**!

THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN

- **sweetly**

_p.s. just to clarify (for safety's sake): _

_**Annie** is Cammie and Zach's seven year old daughter, _  
_and Morgan's younger sister. _

_And, she's really really really really_  
_really really **really really** smart. _  
_like, we're talking Liz times at least two_  
_ (because she has Liz to help her study).  
__  
and, i think that's it for now.  
also, i reserve the right to alter this before publishing  
because i'm ninety five percent sure that'll happen.  
_

* * *

On the nights  
Agent Zachary Goode  
was off duty

_not_ out of the country  
for days, weeks,  
months at a time

taking down illegal arms dealers,  
tracking terrorists,  
and many other activities of the same  
life-threatening nature,

but _home._

He and his wife would  
normally do something special,  
or at least _try_ to.

Usually, the two would go out to dinner,  
grab Italian or Chinese,  
or attempt to stay in and _make_ dinner

due to Annie and Morgan  
and the tendency of most of the Goode's go-to babysitters  
to be somewhere classified and, therefore, difficult to call on short notice

But, to be honest,  
that was always a terrible idea,  
considering the Morgan family's microwave-only gene,  
and Zach's inability to cook most things other than bacon,  
spaghetti, and mac and cheese.

So, given that Mr. and Mrs. Goode  
were slightly sub par in the field of culinary arts,  
as well in the field of _dating_  
and _relaxing_  
and _normal_ married life.

their "night out" would normally end  
with a lot of smoke in the kitchen,  
a movie in the player,  
(that never even got as far as the first ten minutes)

and two highly trained operatives  
conditioned to last weeks in the harshest conditions  
passed out on the couch,  
her head on his chest.

This pleasure was a simple one,  
an unspoken habit that occurred  
without being discussed  
or planned  
or fussed over.

but, something that just _happened_  
as a natural side effect  
of the world nearly falling apart  
when Morgan Goode was twelve,  
and Zachary Goode had vanished.

However, this particular night  
was different.

Though only a day ago,  
Zach had returned from  
what was _supposed_ to be a three week  
assignment in Madrid that ran long,  
two whole months long,

Cammie went to bed early,  
and Zach ate cold pizza for dinner.

And, something was off.  
something was wrong.

But, it was a something  
so well hidden, so deeply buried,  
that anyone on the outside wouldn't have detected it.

So, neither did Annie.

If the small girl had noticed any indication  
of her father not feeling himself,

if she had seen him cringe ever so slightly when he walked,  
his normal pace and pattern slower,  
more careful.

Then little Annie Goode,

well read on the importance of sleep  
and the theories concerning the correlation  
between the body's regular rest period  
and a longer life span,

would have canceled story time in a jiffy,  
and sent her father straight to bed.

But, given,  
Zachary Goode was a seasoned operative,  
in his prime.

Invisibility was his trade.

Therefore, there was a lot Annie didn't see,  
or hear  
or know.

Even when she tried her hardest,  
to see,  
to hear,  
to notice things  
like a Gallagher Girl would.

But, even when her mother,  
_the_ Gallagher Girl,  
_did_ see  
and hear  
and notice.

There was still a lot under the surface  
Annie hadn't quite learned yet,  
much less could detect.

And, even if she had the opportunity,  
even if there was a whole text book  
she could memorize

filled with all the dirty details,  
all the unfortunate truths about  
the grief and despair of the world,  
and their effect on the intangible,  
unmendable human soul.

_Cameron_ Goode was almost certain  
her daughter still wouldn't  
understand.

Because, Annie Goode,  
though highly intelligent  
was still seven.

And, her mother  
wanted to keep it that way.

Particularly so,  
after seeing her husband's scar.

Or, well.  
His _new_ one.

"Where's that from?"

She was _supposed_ to be asleep,  
so that's what her husband expected  
when he walked into the master bedroom  
post Annie's bedtime story hour.

But, there were many things  
Cameron Morgan Goode was supposed to be, but wasn't,  
many things she was supposed to do, but didn't,  
places she really shouldn't be, but was anyway.

at least, recently.

But, Zach has always known his wife was  
a little bit (well, a lot a bit) of a rule bender,  
if not a rule-breaker.

So, the truth was, Zach wasn't surprised  
when he opened the door and reached for the lamp,  
that Cammie sat up and stared at him  
like someone who hadn't slept for days,

or rather,  
two months.

Zach wrinkled his forehead,  
tossed his t-shirt into the dirty hamper  
and looked at his wife,

"Where's what from?"

Cammie pointed at his bare back.

It certainly wasn't a hard mark to miss.  
It was fresh,  
red, and irritated.

From a rock maybe.  
Or a blunt knife, Cammie thought.

And, as she winced at the sight,  
Zach's face carried a tinge  
of disappointment

as if he meant to hide the wound,  
but did such a fine job,  
that he forgot it was there.

Regardless,  
the secret was out.  
So, he simply shrugged  
and turned toward the bed.

But, for Zachary Goode's wife,  
that was an answer that hardly sufficed.

"Zach." She warned.  
He slipped under the sheets,  
and reached for the light.

But, though Cammie had been  
off active duty for a little over three years,  
she remembered all her skills,  
specifically her _combative_ skills,  
like class was in session yesterday.

Which is why when she  
grabbed and twisted her husband's muscular arm,  
pinning it behind his back,

he couldn't move, despite his strength,  
he couldn't counter, despite his skill,  
and he was forced to comply.

"Well, _that's_ not helping anything,"  
Zach said through his teeth.

Cammie tightened her hold.  
Zach muffled a cry,

"Okay. Gallagher Girl, _okay_."

Cammie released his arm.  
but Zach wasn't easily defeated.

He reached for the light again,  
quicker this time,  
flicked it off,  
then hid under the sheets  
like a three year old in a thunderstorm.

She was soft.

Zach knew that if anything suffered the most  
from Agent Cameron Morgan Goode's  
hiatus from the field -

it was her mental strength,  
her endurance,  
her will.

But, then again,  
that was a deterioration  
that had been in motion since her father disappeared.

And, this weakness of hers was one that  
Zach almost - well, _really_ – felt guilty  
for using against her.

"It's nothing."  
Zach gave in with a sigh,  
uncovering his face and turning in the covers  
toward a Cammie who half expected him  
to stay under the sheets for an eternity.

And, seeing his wife's vulnerability through the dark,  
her usual mask almost completely dissolved,  
Zach Goode lied,  
for her own good.

"I really don't know"

"You can't just _not know_ where  
something like that came from, Zach," Cammie scoffed,  
propping herself up on her elbow,  
ready for a fight.

But, just as quickly,  
Zach grabbed her free arm,  
flipped it over slowly,

revealing the faded markings,  
the slashes and cuts  
from a summer that had run away from Cammie's memory,  
yet still haunted her in scars  
and aches  
and pains  
and nightmares.

"Sure you can."

He replaced the arm softly,  
hoping to resolve problem,  
ease her mind, and put her to sleep.

He knew what tormented her,  
he knew where her mind went when she dreamed.

Fear.

It was all she had anymore.  
And, he knew that.

It took a lot to frighten a Gallagher Girl.  
Little Annie Goode strongly believed it was impossible.

But, it seemed the world had managed to do so  
_thoroughly._

He just kind of wished he could take it all away.

Yet, such a feat was one  
that made even Zachary Goode  
lack confidence in his ability.

So, Cammie surrendered,  
like she did so easily nowadays,  
laying her head on her pillow,

now sure of two things,  
if they hadn't been perfectly certain before:

Annie Goode was seven,  
and she needed to stay that way:  
innocent,  
ignorant,  
safe.

Which is exactly the reason  
why Annie's mother  
had hit the hay early that night,

a threat to the status quo  
that made Cammie close the door,  
escape the house,  
if not to sleep,  
then to think it all through.

"She passed the elementary level test."  
Cammie said softly to the ceiling.

Zach, settled into his pillow now,  
eyes closed, breathing slow,  
only let out a small groan as a reply.

Cammie turned toward him,  
knowing he was nearly asleep,  
but unable to keep silent any longer.

"The results came in today," she said,  
"Annie could be in middle school  
by the time class starts."

"She's _supposed_ to be in first grade,"  
Zach murmured,  
exhausted by nearly everything,

specifically the number of tests his daughter could take,  
the number of grade levels she could skip,

and the significant resilience in little Annie's pursuit  
to become a Gallagher Girl.

"You know what this means, don't you?"  
"It means it's time to sleep,"

"Zach, with all these grades she keeps skipping,  
two, three at a time, they're going to want to test her again."

"And…"

"And, if she passes the sixth grade before this year even starts,  
she'll be ready for seventh."

"Define _ready_."

"Gallagher. We're going to have to test her for Gallagher.  
You know that." Cammie said, "That's what she wants too."

All Zach did was open his eyes,  
stare at his wife looking down at him,  
propped up on one elbow again,  
endlessly restless.

He placed a stray strand of hair  
behind her ear and exhaled.

"She's not ready for Gallagher." Cammie whispered,  
"She's just a little girl."

Cameron Goode was expecting an answer,  
a conclusion,  
a solution to the matter,  
a resolution to her constant worrying.

But, Zachary Goode,  
though capable of a great many things,  
couldn't give her any of that,  
not truly.

So, Zach just rolled over and  
pulled the covers tighter over his shoulders,  
before replying weakly,

"Where else is there for her to go?"

There was a beat of silence,  
a second where neither knew what to say,  
how to continue.

So, Cammie finally collapsed onto her pillow again,  
returning her gaze to the ceiling,  
asking her husband one last  
insolvable, yet inevitable question.

"_Should_ we send her to Gallagher?"

But, he was asleep then,  
or pretending to be.

Cam did catch him smile ever so much  
when she leaned over and kissed him goodnight  
on his cheek- a good indicator he wasn't all gone quite yet.

But, no matter how long they prolonged their consensus,  
the question _had_ to be answered,  
inevitable meant _inevitable_.

And, if this claim were to be shaken,  
if the question could be somehow avoided,

still, nothing would stop Annie Goode  
from becoming a Gallagher Girl.

so, before her parents could decide  
whether to expose her to their world  
so prematurely

send her into an education  
that would teach her far more  
than the university level physics,  
and advanced language courses she craved,

The decision was kind of sort of,  
and unfortunately,  
already made.

Morgan had learned too early.  
Morgan was exposed too soon.

And, it was almost a goal of  
Mr. and Mrs. Goode's to keep their daughter's ignorance  
for as long as possible.

But, Rachel Ann Goode had a mind of her own,  
a mind far more advanced than any public school could handle.

She was _meant_ to be a Gallagher Girl,  
just like Cinderella was _meant_ to be a princess.

And, nothing would stop her from  
becoming what she was meant to be.

Not if she could help it.


End file.
